The Innocence of Childhood
by Juliana Brandagamba
Summary: In which Merlin comes to Camelot as a rather younger child. AU.
1. Arrival

**This AU features all of our favourite characters in rather younger incarnations. This beginning is a bit of an experiment that I hope you enjoy. Do let me know what you think. ;)**

* * *

Gaius had seen it as his duty to take the child in. An orphan with no other relatives, all but abandoned in a village filled with families who could not afford to raise another youngster – it broke Gaius's heart to see those wide, innocent eyes staring up at him, not quite comprehending what was happening, but all the same filled with infinite sadness.

He had only met Merlin once before, not long after his birth. He had been a scrawny thin little thing then, though Gaius wasn't in the least surprised that he had grown into an adorable six-year-old. He was very like his mother, he realised with a pang of regret. He had by his age accepted the cold fact of death's existence, but he wished Hunith hadn't been taken away by it so early on. He wished she hadn't left behind this poor little child. He wondered if he knew enough about infants to be able to care for him.

Merlin had left Ealdor in silence. He had been invited to say goodbye to the people, and he had received numerous hugs and small presents from his fellow-villagers, but he didn't speak to any of them, instead clinging to Gaius's hand and looking as if he wanted nothing better than to escape.

A few days later, they had arrived in Camelot: Merlin's new home.

Merlin was naturally exhausted from the long ride, and Gaius carried him into the city as he fell into a light sleep. The chatter of the crowds did not seem to awaken him, nor did the bells tolling the hour. No, his eyes flickered open only when the sound of drums came to them from the courtyard before the castle.

'What's that?' he asked sleepily.

'It's drums,' Gaius said, unwilling to elaborate. 'They won't go on for long. Don't worry.'

'Why are they drumming?' Merlin said.

Damn it all, if he wasn't one of those children who questioned everything. '...Practice,' Gaius lied. He was very conscious of the fact that he wasn't a very good liar.

His eyes flashed towards the courtyard. There was a rather large crowd gathered in there, so large that he couldn't see the executioner. He glanced back down at Merlin. The boy had automatically followed the physician's gaze, and it was probably a good job that he couldn't see anything.

'Is the drum practice popular?' Merlin asked in the naïvest fashion.

'Very,' replied Gaius.

'Can we go and see it?'

'We haven't got time,' Gaius said hurriedly. 'Let's get you home.'

And he shepherded the boy through one of the servants' entrances to the castles, and headed towards his quarters. Merlin, at once forgetting his fascination with the "drum practice" (which could still be heard, very faintly, through the thick castle walls), stopped to stare at every tapestry that adorned the walls, and insisted on looking through every window. He also stared at all of the people who walked by, for which Gaius scolded him, because it was a little rude: but the physician did not blame him for it, because he had probably never seen anywhere quite like Camelot.

At last they came to the quarters, and Gaius, opening the door, apologised a little for the mess and the dust. Merlin did not seem to mind. His eyes widened further, and he looked almost exhilarated by the little room in which he now found himself. It was, in truth, a fascinating chamber – stacked with books, equipment, tables, papers; shelves filled with little phials and bottles; and the assorted smells that permeated the air lent it a decidedly mystical feel. Merlin at once hurried towards the centre of the room; Gaius went to hold him back, but it was too late – the boy's footsteps had caused the table to tremble, and a large flask was dislodged from its (admittedly unsteady) position at the top of a stack of papers.

Gaius threw himself forwards to catch it, but he wasn't near enough. Just as he feared that it would smash on the floor, scattering its precious contents, there was a strange sort of bolt of energy and the bottle halted in midair.

It was impossible to describe what had just happened. He had felt something – and now the bottle was hovering a foot or so above the floorboards. It was only when he had caught his breath that he noticed that Merlin was still holding his arm out.

'Merlin...' Gaius said at last.

Startled, Merlin drew back his arm. The flask seemed to hesitate for half a second, before crashing to the ground and breaking. But Gaius did not notice the liquid beginning to seep into the wood. His eyes were firmly on Merlin, who shrank back all of a sudden from this attention.

'I'm sorry!' cried Merlin then, and looked as if he might burst into tears. 'I didn't mean to knock it off. I didn't touch it.'

'I know you didn't,' Gaius said softly. He wasn't going to scold the boy, not whilst he was still recovering from his mother's death, not whilst he was still adapting to such a dramatic change of circumstances. 'Don't worry about the bottle for now... but what was it that you just did?'

'Nothing,' Merlin said instantly.

'You had your arm out; you stopped the bottle from falling –'

'Wasn't me,' Merlin said, in a sulky sort of fashion. There was still a lingering fear in those piercing eyes.

'Merlin, when your mother said that you were special –'

'I'm not special!' Merlin cried. 'I'm dull and ordinary and normal and _I like it that way_!'

With that he turned on his heel and went to sit on the steps at the back of the room, huddled in the alcove and out of Gaius's line of sight. The physician stared at him, filled with a great pity, and very slowly and carefully went to him and slipped his arm around his shoulders.

'Merlin, what's wrong?' he murmured.

'I want to be normal,' sniffed Merlin from somewhere within his jacket.

'Merlin, nobody is normal,' Gaius assured him. 'Everyone's different. You must realise that.'

'Being different is horrible,' said Merlin. 'People talk about you when you're not there. People think you're strange. People are scared of you.'

Gaius's brow furrowed. He didn't know in the slightest where to start. He knew what Merlin had done – he hardly dared to pronounce its name. _Magic_. The very word, spoken loud enough, would probably bring guards running to the quarters.

'Merlin, you mustn't do what you did in front of anyone else,' Gaius said then.

'I can't help it,' Merlin replied, in something akin to despair. 'And if it is fine to be different, why shouldn't I show it?'

'Because...' and here Gaius hesitated. 'Because what you did, your skill, your... _magic_ is illegal in Camelot. You would be arrested, and... and punished.'

Merlin's frightened eyes at last looked up at Gaius. They gave him the appearance of some shy wild animal that has been cornered. 'Why are you not arresting me?' he said at last.

'Because,' and Gaius faltered, thrown a little by this question. 'Because you're my son now, and a father cannot betray his son like that.'

'My father,' Merlin choked out.

And a great expression of gratitude, gratitude he couldn't place and couldn't put into words, came onto his face then. He stood, slowly, wiping his tears away, and staring at Gaius. The old physician smiled down at him. This, then, was the beginning of a new era, for both of them, and it would be as well to start it on a positive note.

Therefore Gaius threw his arms around Merlin, and Merlin clung tightly to Gaius, and neither of them let go for a long while. The drumming from outside had long since stopped. The smell of baking came to them from somewhere below these quarters. The sun had begun to set in a blaze of glorious colour, and all was serene.

Once they broke apart from the embrace, all fear, all sadness, all anxiety was lost, and they were as father and son; Gaius smiled, and Merlin beamed all of a sudden, and his grin was infectious and rather beautiful.

'Father, I'm hungry,' he said at once, and Gaius burst out laughing. He really rather liked this child already, and would be glad to call him his son.


	2. Arthur

Merlin, Gaius found, started off clingy, naturally: but he very quickly showed an independent streak. At first Gaius left him in the quarters and told him not to wander off, nor to break anything. A few days later, when he had some time to spare, he showed the boy around every bit of Camelot that he could. And a week after Merlin's arrival, he was allowed to wander the city of his own accord, provided he didn't do magic in front of anyone (or at all, to be honest), and that he was sensible.

Gaius, then, trusted Merlin. He could not but trust him. The boy was as innocent as a child half his age, wide-eyed and ever-questioning, but possessing of what might have been called wisdom in an adult, but in an infant had no name. And, damn it all, he had a particularly charming smile that had entirely won Gaius over the very first time he had seen it.

Merlin, then, was given free reign of the city whilst Gaius went about his daily tasks. (He might have appreciated an extra pair of hands, but after the broken bottle incident, he decided that a clumsy pair of hands might do more harm than good.) He ran down the corridors, trying not to crash into the maids who walked up and down, and flew into the courtyard before heading off at a quick pace into the market. Today the place was bustling, and he found himself exhilarated by the colourful stalls and the heady array of smells.

Naturally, he wasn't looking where he was going, and so at length crashed headlong into someone and tumbled to the floor. The girl who had just received this unusual greeting, far from being annoyed, just laughed merrily and tutted a little; when Merlin started to rise to his feet, he saw a hand extended to pull him up. He looked up. The girl was his age; the cut of her clothes revealed that she was a child of the city, though the colour of her skin differed from that of most people. Merlin could not help but stare a little.

'Come along, Gwen,' said a voice then, and both the girl and Merlin turned to see a tall young man, who, judging by his colour, was related to this girl, probably her father.

'Who's your friend?' he asked then, catching sight of Merlin.

'I don't know,' replied Gwen, immediately holding out her hand. 'I'm Gwen and this is my father. Are you new to Camelot? I haven't seen you before.'

'Merlin,' said Merlin, shaking.

'Merlin!' replied Gwen. 'I like that name. I saw a merlin once.'

'Nice to meet you, Merlin,' said Gwen's father. 'I'm sorry; we haven't too much time to chat.'

'Oh, Daddy, let me make friends,' Gwen cried, clutching at her father's hands. The man's heart seemed to melt.

'I'll do the shopping on my own, shall I?' he said with a smile and a twinkle, and, kissing the curls that sprouted from the top of Gwen's head, he disappeared into the crowds.

When he was gone, Gwen grinned. 'Let's go see the falconry. I wanted to go and see it, but Daddy won't let me go on my own.'

'Falconry?' asked Merlin.

'You'll see,' replied Gwen, and took his hand. Merlin blushed a little, but held on as she dragged him towards a wide green field that backed onto the white walls of the castle. A number of men who must have been knights were there: they wore bright red cloaks, and, on top of sparkling mail-shirts, red tunics that bore the magnificent standard of Camelot. These men were battering each other with swords, raining blows down on already-dinted helmets and plate armour; or standing to one side watching and chatting; or over on the other side of the field, with birds balanced on thick gloves.

These, then, were the falconers. They had a number of species, falcons, hawks, even a bemused-looking owl: and they were training them, it seemed, throwing bits of food in the air for them to catch, or letting them go after small mammals that scuttled along the edge of the field, or sparrows that were unlucky enough to land in the grass. Merlin and Gwen watched, somewhat entranced; a short while into this display, a boy of about their age, dressed smartly in the livery of the city, marched over to them with his own falcon on his hand.

'He's got a merlin,' Merlin breathed.

The bird was splendid. Its slaty plumage seemed to shine in the sun, and its chest was speckled as a thrush's. Its keen eye seemed to watch everything, though it was hooded, and it had a certain overbearing demeanour not unlike its owner, Merlin and Gwen could not help but notice. The boy was tall, blond and haughty, and had a loud voice that carried even over to where they were standing.

'I want to see the merlin closer,' Merlin said, and approached the fence that surrounded this field.

He got as far as leaning on it when he managed to catch the eye of this boy, who smiled a little arrogantly on seeing this little peasant boy staring at him in what he perceived to be admiration. As if showing off, he tossed a little piece of meat high into the air, and the merlin took off after it, catching it easily with a bit of a swagger; the boy smirked. Then he threw another piece more in Merlin's direction; his falcon went after it, but this time missed, and had to collect it off the ground.

'You distracted her,' the boy cried, aiming this annoyed outburst towards Merlin.

Merlin looked bewildered. 'I didn't do anything. I wasn't moving. I was just watching.'

'Don't be awkward. I said you distracted her.' And the boy, having received his bird back onto his hand, cuffed her a little on the wing for missing the food.

'Don't hurt her,' cried Merlin then.

'I'll do what I like, thank you,' sniffed the boy; as if to emphasise his point, he dashed his hand again against the bird's plumage.

'No!' cried Merlin without really thinking.

The boy cocked one eyebrow. He set his bird down on a nearby perch, and, his eye curious, came closer to Merlin. 'Do you know who you're speaking to?'

'Merlin, be careful!' cried Gwen, who had only just registered this conversation. She ran over, but not before Merlin had said:

'No, I don't, but you're being nasty to that bird, and I had to say something.'

'Did you now? Well, I'm the prince of Camelot.'

Gwen, who had arrived at Merlin's side, had automatically bowed low. Merlin did not imitate her.

'Get down, boy,' said this prince, in the tone of a much older man.

Merlin looked at once confused and defiant, and did not bow.

'Bow to me!'

'No,' said Merlin, somewhat cheekily, as if he just wanted to see what would happen.

Suddenly, the boy's hand shot out, grabbing the red scarf that adorned Merlin's neck. Gwen gave a cry, but did not dare to intervene.

'I can get you punished,' said the prince. 'I can get my father's men to get you.'

'I haven't done anything!' said Merlin: and out of sheer perplexion he began to cry, and ceded to the prince's wishes by bowing reluctantly.

'Baby,' murmured the prince, smirking, and went back to the others to collect his falcon.

Gwen at once took Merlin's hand, and got out a little handkerchief to dry his tears away. 'Oh, Merlin, are you all right?'

Merlin sniffed and tried to stand tall. 'I'm fine.'

'Let's go back to the market,' Gwen decided, and slipped her arm in his, leading him away. They ignored the wolf-whistle that came from somewhere behind them. They ignored the second murmuring of the word _baby_. Merlin's tears had almost dried up by the time they reached Gwen's house, which Merlin saw was adjacent to the smithy; she got him a fresh handkerchief and a drink, and set him down at the table.

'I _am_ a baby for crying,' Merlin admitted, still dabbing at his eyes.

'Don't worry,' replied Gwen, 'Arthur makes a lot of people cry.'

'Is that his name?' asked Merlin. Gwen nodded. 'And is he really the prince of Camelot?' Gwen nodded again, with a small sigh.

They might have continued the conversation, except that the bells suddenly cut across them, and Merlin let out a cry.

'I have to go back,' he said. 'Gaius will wonder where I am.'

'You're staying with Gaius?' Gwen asked. 'Oh! You're so lucky! He's one of the nicest people in Camelot.' She beamed. 'Is he your grandfather?'

'Great-uncle,' said Merlin, in an oddly stiff sort of fashion.

'So are you not here forever?'

Their eyes met. At once Gwen could sense that she had spoken rashly, though she didn't quite know how until Merlin said:

'I live here now. I haven't got anywhere else. I haven't any other family.'

And his expression then must have been incredibly dismal, because at once Gwen cried: 'Oh! I'm sorry!' and clasped him in her arms.

'It's fine,' said Merlin gruffly when he had retreated from this embrace. 'Anyway, goodbye. See you later.'

'See you later,' said Gwen in turn, and Merlin left the house, his tears now drying up quickly; and his heart was immensely gladdened by his meeting with this lovely young girl, who, though she perhaps did not know it, would surely be his means of recovery from all that he had suffered.

Therefore when he returned home he could announce proudly to Gaius that he had already made a new friend. He didn't mention that he had also potentially already made an enemy, and out of no less than the prince of Camelot.


	3. Destiny

Merlin, to Gaius's great surprise, did not suffer from insomnia, despite what he had been through. Indeed, it seemed that his troubles had exhausted him to the point of making him into a very deep sleeper. He was early to bed and early to rise, full of energy as he was in the mornings, and wearied as he was in the evenings by running around Camelot all day – his favourite occupation at the moment.

It surprised Gaius, therefore, when Merlin came down to breakfast one morning pensive, and a little ruffled, as if he had not got quite enough sleep. He might have asked the boy about it, had his expression and aloof manner not entirely forbidden him; he guessed that he had been grieving, or at the least thinking about his mother or the people of his village, and so did not disturb him.

He was wrong, however. The events of the night had led Merlin to forget entirely those matters that had troubled him before.

* * *

It must have been around midnight. Gaius had stayed up late working on some new potion, but even he had gone to bed by that point. The sky had been dark and cloudy, and the city deathly silent, save for the occasional footstep of a guard. Merlin might have missed all of this, had he not been drawn out of sleep by a voice calling his name.

He started, and bolted upright; the voice had already faded with the light breeze that rattled his window-pane. He almost replied, for a moment thinking that it was Gaius: but no, it had been deeper and more throaty, yet somehow not quite like a man's voice at all.

It must have been a dream, he decided, clutching at the fragments of a fading vision from which he had been so rudely awoken. He could not recall dreaming, but he supposed he must have been. Therefore he lay back down, and was about to go back to sleep, when –

 _Merlin!_

He sat up again, and rubbed his eyes. That was no dream: yet it had seemed a little like a voice in his head, and it certainly hadn't awoken anyone else. It was strange, then, that he should be able to pinpoint the direction from which a voice in his head came. It seemed to have come from somewhere beneath his room.

His curiosity was as great as any child's, perhaps greater, and he did not have that fear of the dark that was common in so many others: therefore he slipped out of bed, and paced across the room before bending down and seeing if he could hear the voice through the floorboards. He had just put his ear to the wood when the voice resonated again, calling his name once more, echoing in his head rather unpleasantly.

He was fully awake now, and so, unless he was imagining it, there had most definitely been a voice. It would not however be prudent to reply to it by shouting: therefore he padded to the door, opened it quietly, threw a glance towards Gaius's sleeping form, and crept out of the quarters. He was lucky that he was still a child, for anyone with feet any bigger than his would not have been able to navigate those obstacles that littered the floor; he got into the corridor without any trouble, and, swinging the door ajar, he took stock of his situation.

Even if the voice did not call again, he would surely be able to locate it. It had been so clear in his mind. Therefore he followed what he thought to be its trail, pattering down the corridors, and listening out for the guards, lest he be arrested for wandering round after curfew. A strange thrill coursed through him. Breaking the law was surprisingly exciting.

He did not know quite where he was going, nor did he know if he would ever be able to find his way back: all that mattered, it seemed to him then, was that he found the source of the voice. It had most definitely called his name. All that remained to him was to answer that call. He still wondered, at the back of his mind, why it had not awoken anyone else: but that did not bother him for the moment.

At length he came to what looked like a corridor he shouldn't take, but which was the only route he could follow, if he was to continue in the right direction. A thin light flickered on the walls, coming from somewhere around the corner. Merlin was just about to enter the corridor when he heard a noise from further down, and froze.

It had been a muffled curse, a word that no man would have spoken in front of a child had he known of his presence. It was followed by a quiet noise that seemed to signify victory, and a slight clattering. The noises weren't coming closer, and nor were there footsteps. Merlin ventured nervously into the corridor, and followed it to where it wound round a corner, before stopping and holding his breath.

The smell of burning tar came to him, and he guessed from this that the light was provided by a torch. There were no more voices, but the ensuing sounds made Merlin think of board-games.

Cautiously he glanced round the corner. His little face was not, thankfully, perceived by the two guards who were beyond. Having seen the situation, he retreated hurriedly, and pressed himself against the wall whilst he considered his next move.

There had been two soldiers in a wide part of the corridor – more of a doorless room. They were guarding something, that much was evident. They had been sitting at a table playing what had looked to Merlin like a game of Nine Men's Morris, and they had, of course, been entirely in the way of the rest of the corridor.

It was at that exact point that the voice returned to Merlin, louder and clearer than ever before:

 _Merlin!_

He jumped, and had to stifle a cry, for the voice had been almost painfully loud. He was certain now that it was coming from beyond those guards. He had only to get past them.

He sneaked a look again. They were still engrossed in their game.

At that very moment, he felt a rush of energy leave him. The air around him seemed to tingle a bit, and he drew a breath, knowing exactly what was happening but unable to control it. The magic left him in a great wave that was almost visible: and to his utter astonishment the two guards froze mid-move.

Doing magic by accident was a little annoying, and quite often highly inconvenient, but he had to admit that it came in useful sometimes. He shrugged, and went nonchalantly down the corridor, straight past the men, whose faces were frozen in grimaces that made him laugh aloud.

He fled then down the remainder of the corridor, round a corner and out of sight of the men; the air took on an entirely different texture all of a sudden, and the light began to fade; and then – he was in a cave.

He stumbled to his knees, entirely surprised by the sight before him. The corridor had ended unexpectedly in a wide cavern that fell deeply below the ledge on which he stood, and rose to a vaulted ceiling almost like that of a cathedral. To the left and right it didn't seem to have an end. The whole place was surreal: he had seen nothing like it.

All the same, he was a little disappointed to find nothing here that possessed a loud and booming voice. He was far below Camelot now, he estimated – far below where there should have been beings. He hadn't even realised that Camelot was built upon this cave system.

 _How small you are..._

Merlin bolted upright. There was that voice again! And yet it still seemed as if it was in his head – it –

He didn't have time to try to make sense of it. He had scarcely staggered to his feet when there was a clanking and a flapping and a dragon appeared before him.

Naturally, he could do nothing but stare.

It was a magnificent creature, proportioned just like the ones in story-books, but with a kind and yet enigmatic smile that Merlin had never seen on anything but a human being. It had the most remarkable eyes, furthermore, blazing gold ones that seemed to pierce his very being and stare deep into his soul.

Not for the first time that night, he wondered if he was dreaming. No – he was _convinced_ that he was. Dragons didn't exist. He mustn't be so stupid as to believe that this was real.

 _How small you are,_ said the dragon, _for such a great destiny_.

It was bizarre. The voice was almost certainly the dragon's, and yet it did not move its mouth. At last Merlin realised why the voice had sounded as if it was inside his head – because it _was_.

'I... I don't understand,' he stammered out, entirely overwhelmed now by whatever this meeting was, and rather hoping it was a dream, because one can escape from dreams.

 _You do not need to understand_ , said the dragon, _only to know_.

'What do I need to know?' asked Merlin. 'And what did you mean by great destiny? I don't have a great destiny.'

 _On the contrary_ , said the dragon with something akin to a laugh. _Yours is the greatest that was and will be... Your destiny is to protect Arthur, and to help him to become a great king._

'I don't understand,' said Merlin again, perplexed.

Now the dragon regarded him with a critical eye. _You will._

'But Arthur... you don't mean Arthur the nasty prince?'

The dragon did not respond to this, but Merlin knew that he was right.

'He's horrible,' Merlin commented, with all the honesty of a child his age.

 _Maybe you can change that._

'I don't want to talk to him again,' said Merlin, folding his arms.

 _The path of destiny cannot be altered._

Merlin merely raised one eyebrow, in an expression that would in an adult have looked disparaging, but in a child was merely amusing. The dragon chuckled again.

 _I shall give you the advice you need, but the path is yours to forge._

Then the dragon unfurled its wings, and made to take off again; Merlin caught a glimpse of a chain around its feet, and knew then why there had been a clanking. 'You are a prisoner!'

 _That is a small matter_.

Merlin might perhaps have pursued this train of thought, but that he was utterly bewildered. He rubbed his brow, suddenly feeling greatly tired, and decided that this was enough excitement for one night. 'I have to go,' he declared, and the dragon, smiling enigmatically, took off and disappeared from sight.

Merlin stared at the empty cave. Only the chain gave any evidence that the dragon was here. He could not believe a second of what had just happened, and so, without any further ado, went back to bed, in the hope that on the way he would wake up.

* * *

He had not woken up until the sun was streaming through the window, and Gaius had been about to come and tell him it was time for breakfast. All the events of the night came back to him in an irregular flood, like snippets of a dream; he was about to dismiss it as such, when he noticed that his jacket had been moved slightly to one side on the floor. He had moved it like that when he had knelt to listen through the floorboards. He put a hand to his temple to steady himself, and began to consider that it had all in fact happened.

The first thing that came to his mind on realising this was a fervent hope that his spell on the guards had been released.

The second was a mad rush of thoughts, such thoughts that Gaius was immensely concerned about his silence at breakfast. But he wouldn't tell him about what had happened. Not just yet. Somehow, in just a few words, the dragon had conveyed a good deal to him, and he would need time to think over what exactly it was that had happened in the cavern that night.


	4. Morgana

Much to Merlin's dismay, it was not long before he ran into his new-found enemy again. They both lived in the castle, and so it was inevitable that their paths should cross; Merlin tried to avoid meeting the prince's eyes as he passed him in the corridor, both because he was trying to hide, and because he thought that to be the custom when it came to royalty.

One particular day, Gaius called Merlin from his bedroom (where he seemed to spend most of his time these days), and presented him with a little glass phial.

'Have you met the Lady Morgana yet?' he asked.

Merlin thought for a moment, and then shook his head. 'A Lady?'

'Well, she is about the same age as you, but she's the King's ward, so she is called a Lady.' Gaius paused. 'Her rooms are just down the corridor from Prince Arthur's. I'd like you to give this to her. I trust you know where you are going?'

Merlin, who had explored the castle to the last nook by now (including, of course, some nooks that he wasn't supposed to have explored), nodded, and took the phial, clutching it to him so that he didn't drop it. 'What is it?'

'It's – a medicine that she has to take.'

'What for?'

'Merlin, you're far too nosey!' A moment later it occurred to Gaius that small children generally were. He apologised for snapping, and said, 'It's to help her sleep.'

The boy nodded, not quite comprehending (his mother had always told him that a kiss and a bedtime story helped you to sleep), but eager to help Gaius out.

He went out into the corridor, and skipped a little on the flags; just as he came to an intersection between corridors, a voice hailed him. He turned. It was Arthur.

The prince had one eyebrow raised, which made him look even more haughty than usual. He studied Merlin up and down before saying: 'You're staying with Gaius.'

'Yes,' Merlin replied shortly.

'Your grandfather?'

'Great-uncle.'

The little prince nodded. It was evident that this information seemed to have given him a new-found respect for the boy. 'D'you like him?'

'I think he's brilliant,' Merlin said.

'He's nice,' said Arthur unexpectedly; then, as if he had forgotten that he wasn't supposed to be being kind to Merlin, he continued in a louder voice: 'Where are you going, then? This corridor only goes to my room. And Morgana's.'

'I'm taking this to the Lady Morgana.'

Merlin's voice as he said this must have been more reverent than he intended, because Arthur smirked and whistled a little. ' _Lady_ Morgana indeed! She'll like you. She likes little devoted peasant servants.'

And with that he went on his way.

Merlin did not know whether to be pleased or insulted, but, giving him the benefit of the doubt, he smiled in the direction of the disappearing prince, who did not notice him. Therefore Merlin continued, and eventually found himself in front of a door that bore the name "Lady Morgana of Camelot".

It was ajar, and he peeked in; he could see the outline of someone moving about within, and so retreated, and knocked upon the door. A moment later a voice called out for him to come in.

It was only when he had entered that he realised that he knew the voice. Straightening a counterpane that lay on a rich four-poster bed was none other than Gwen, who smiled brilliantly at the boy.

'Merlin!'

'Gwen!'

'How are you?'

'I'm very well, thank you. – But what are you doing here? Isn't this the Lady Morgana's room?'

Gwen beamed. 'Yes, but I help sort out her things. And we're friends.'

This confused Merlin a little, who could not work out if she was a friend or a servant or both (the last option didn't quite seem plausible). He decided not to ask. 'Where is she?'

'She's just gone to get something. She'll be back in a minute. Why?'

'I have a thing from Gaius for her.'

Gwen glanced towards the little phial that Merlin held out. 'You can leave it on the table, if you like.'

'Gaius said I had to give it to her. And anyway, I want to meet a Lady,' Merlin added, unable to stop himself.

Gwen grinned. 'She's very nice. You'll like her. – But I must go and fill this jug: I'll come back in a moment.'

The girl lifted the jug that sat beside the bed, and, with a smile in Merlin's direction, left the room. Her footsteps disappeared along the corridor, and Merlin suddenly found himself alone in the quarters of someone far above his standing, not knowing what to do. He did not want to go near the rug, lest he get dirt on it. He did not want to touch anything, lest he damage it. And if that wasn't bad enough, a minute later he heard returning footsteps, and, expecting Gwen, called out a cheery "Hullo" and turned to find that it wasn't Gwen.

The Lady Morgana (he assumed that it must be she, and he was right) was a tall girl, a little older than him, with a face almost as arrogant as Arthur's, hair like the wings of a raven, and a stern glance that immediately fell on him. He shuddered a little.

Perhaps she questioned for a moment why he was here; but he at once presented the phial, and she smiled in realisation. This smile entirely changed her expression: she became pretty and kind-looking, and Merlin relaxed a little. But, overawed in her presence, he could not move or speak for more than a moment.

'From Gaius?' Morgana asked.

'Yes,' said Merlin in a bit of a squeaky voice.

'You're his new protégé.'

'Protégé?'

Morgana waved her hand a little. She didn't know quite what the word meant; she had just heard it somewhere. 'Assistant.'

'I'm his great-nephew.'

'And assistant,' Morgana persisted, with a nod towards the phial, which she took and inspected. 'Thank you for helping him.'

 _I rather had to,_ thought Merlin, but did not say it. 'It's to help you sleep,' he commented, furrowing his brow. 'You must be unlucky, to have to drink a potion to help you sleep. Maybe you should get someone to read you a bedtime story instead.'

His face was so innocent and serious that Morgana could not help but chuckle. 'Maybe. D'you think it would stop nightmares?'

'Nightmares!' said Merlin, a little aghast. 'Oh, that's horrible. I get nightmares sometimes. I hate them.'

Morgana blinked and turned away. 'Mine come true sometimes... that's even more horrible than the nightmares.'

It was such a peculiar revelation that Merlin could at first only offer his sympathy. It was only when he was out in the corridor and heading back up to Gaius's quarters that he realised what a strange thing it was she had said.


	5. Hiding

**I am SO SORRY for the hiatus in this story. Truly, I cannot apologise enough. I have been busy elsewhere, and also my writing muse pretty much left me for a couple of months. Hopefully it is beginning to return: and to my loyal followers I promise that I shall get round to updating some of my other fics.**

 **But anyway! on with the chapter!**

* * *

Camelot opened itself before the people's little prince. Whenever Arthur went into the lower town, or even down the streets of the upper town, he found that before him, as if he were parting the Red Sea, the crowds divided in one fluid movement. He would never be refused entry to any shop, and he believed that he would be welcomed into any house he chose, should he knock upon the door. And eager market-traders always wanted to be seen giving him a little something – an apple, a strip of bacon, a trinket.

King Uther supposed that all this might go to his son's head, but to be perfectly honest he did not do much to stop it. Anyway, the child was intelligent enough. One day he would learn that the people acted more out of fear and reverence than out of kindness. Such was the life of one of the royal family.

But Arthur had not yet learnt this: and on this particular day he felt particularly pompous, for he had been given a new cloak. It was of the same glorious red as those of the knights, and indeed cut in much the same fashion. He felt magnificent, though that might equally have been due to the weather, and the fact that the market was in full flow, in all its noisy perfection.

Even the busiest of people stopped and bowed to him as he made his way down the street. A man halfway through cleaving a pig carcass dropped his knife, almost injuring himself in the process, in order to bend before his prince as quickly as was earthly possible. An elderly woman curtsied further than her back seemed to allow. Nevertheless they all smiled. Arthur smiled back, a little haughtily. It was nice to be adored.

Just as he was drawing near to the practice-grounds, for he had been meaning to train with one of his mentors, he caught a glimpse of a familiar face. Merlin. The young boy sped past, stopped an inch beyond the prince, and asked of him, without preamble:

'Where's the best place to hide?'

'Hide?'

Arthur was so startled by the question that he did not even register Merlin's apparent rudeness, for the boy had surely noticed by now that he was addressing royalty, and had not deigned to bow. Nor, indeed, did he refrain from looking straight into his prince's eyes.

'Hide. I'm playing hide and seek. I need to hide, quickly! Gwen's the seeker. She runs fast.'

'Hide and seek!' Arthur rubbed his forehead, wondering why his thoughts seemed to be going so slowly. 'I don't know – just – round the castle? Between the buttresses in the walls?' He didn't know. He couldn't say he had played hide and seek before.

'I'll find somewhere,' Merlin shrugged. Then, almost as an afterthought: 'Do you want to play?'

Surprised, Arthur at once shook his head.

'Fair enough. See you, Arthur,' and he ran off again.

'It's Prince Arthur,' Arthur yelled after him, at last finding his tongue, but the insolent child had already disappeared.

He was prepared to dismiss his recent acquaintance as merely a rude or ignorant citizen (there were a few about), but something halted him. Merlin wasn't rude. He had heard several people talk about him, and all reported him as kind and polite and charming. Furthermore he had not openly insulted Arthur, save by neglecting to address him correctly – or rather, in the manner that everyone else did. There was something about Merlin, something he couldn't put his finger on.

And he had invited him to join a game of hide and seek! That was the most damning thing. It had been a genuine request, and he had turned it down. Even as he met his mentor on the practice-field and began to stretch in preparation for a bout of sparring, he was still reliving the conversation he had just had: and with every iteration he found he more regretted his answer.

His practice did not go as well as he had hoped: he was still pensive. Halfway through, when he stopped for a break, he noticed Gwen running past, and called out her name, not really expecting her to pay him any attention. But the girl was polite, and so turned, and dropped into a low curtsey, and greeted him with a dazzling smile.

'Did you find Merlin?' Arthur asked.

'Oh, I found him ages ago!' Gwen said. 'Now Edwin's the seeker, and I need to hide somewhere.'

'Edwin?'

'He lives next door to me,' Gwen told him. 'He's the butcher's son.'

'Oh, that Edwin,' Arthur lied.

'You could come and join us,' said Gwen, after a moment. 'We've got loads of people playing... Even the Lady Morgana is playing.'

Arthur's half-formed response did not even reach his throat. 'Morgana?'

Gwen nodded. 'The King didn't much want her to, but she wanted to, so she came to join us. Do you want to –'

'I can't; I'm practising swordfighting,' said Arthur quickly.

'Oh,' Gwen replied. 'Oh, okay.' Then she curtsied again, and left.

He had done it again! and he knew he would regret it all day, but what was done was done. But Morgana! Morgana defying their father's wishes so she could play with some dirty scruffy poor children! What did she see in them? What did she see, he found himself thinking, in their stupid little game? Perhaps he was just trying to console himself, but he started to justify his actions – started to vault the art of swordfighting above that of hide and seek. They were just children, and he was doing _grown-up_ things. Nobody would watch their game. People came to watch him practise. He could see them now, meandering towards the fence, their eyes following the blows that rained down on him, and which he returned to his mentor. They admired him. He knew that. He could have disarmed them with a glance. He liked that.

Yet still something was niggling at him, something that he could not properly pin down until he had returned to the castle. The game had evidently been disbanded, and both Morgana and Merlin, their high voices laughing as one, had come hurtling up the steps. They were chatting in disjointed sentences – he could not catch much of what they said, but he understood the sentiment, and at once he felt something within him sink. He knew the glances they threw at each other. Merlin looked at Gwen like that, and both looked at the other children like that, naturally, perpetually. It was simply a gesture of friendship.

And though he would have sooner died than admitted it, Arthur found it painful to observe. It was nice to be adored. But it would have been even nicer to be liked.


	6. Puzzlement

It was a quiet night, quiet and gentle, but despite that the atmosphere was much conducive to sleep, Merlin was not in the least tired. He had huddled under the covers and closed his eyes when Gaius had checked on him. Now, having heard his great-uncle blow out the candles in the other room, and clamber into his own creaking bed, the boy had tossed the covers aside and walked carefully to the window.

Camelot was beautiful from up here, and Merlin had always found clear nights to be his favourite. High above them there hung stars in their great constellations – the Plough, the Swan, the Horse. His mother had taught him all of their names, but he had never quite been able to see the shapes, instead finding his own animals and figures in the spangled sky. Some people were daunted by the size of the sky, by the distance between them and the stars – Merlin was not, for he felt almost reassured that he was only a small speck in this universe. He would not have liked the responsibility of being anything greater.

Down below there were lights like stars scattered across the city; somewhere an animal shuffled in its stable, somewhere a knight patrolled in a leisurely sort of fashion down the cobbled streets. Merlin leaned out further. He could see a guard directly below him, and almost felt the urge to wave. He knew that the man, whose eyes were hidden beneath a helmet and directed straight in front of him, would not have seen him.

A glint of light caught his eye. He turned his head to look at the castle itself; there was a light at one of the windows further along the wall. Merlin knew the castle well now. It did not take him long to work out that it was Arthur's room that was so illuminated. So the little prince, so devoted to the rules of the land and to his father, was staying up late, beyond the curfew! That, or he had forgotten to extinguish his candle, Merlin considered as his eyes lazily followed the flickering beams of light.

He might have been there for an age, taking in the soft orange glow – he adored the glow of candlelight: it meant home and warmth and comfort – but a minute later it was cast into a thousand glowing shards as the window was opened. The light was more intense now. A hand with a candle came into view, closely followed by Arthur's head.

Merlin did not have time to duck back into the room before Arthur caught sight of him. The prince, whose gaze had gone first to the city spread out below him, had evidently glimpsed movement at another window: and for a moment, their eyes met.

But Merlin was startled, for he did not recognise the expression on Arthur's face. For a moment, a long moment, the prince retained the visage that he had worn whilst regarding his city: a peaceful one, but a world-weary one, and in his eyes was a wisdom and a curiosity well beyond his years.

This expression, which rather captivated Merlin, was quickly gone, however, and replaced by one of amused distaste as Arthur realised at whom he was looking. The prince smirked a little, and, casting a final glance towards the sky, disappeared back into his room and closed the window. A moment later the light faded as the candle was snuffed out.

Merlin was profoundly puzzled: he stood for a while staring out at the city without seeing it, lost in thought. He did not know how much time had passed when at last he clambered back down from his vantage-point.

He might have gone back to sleep, but for one recurring thought that forbade him from clearing his head. He padded across the room to his bed, made up his mind, and turned on his heel to head for the door.

Getting past Gaius was easy: the old physician was sleeping deeply (and snoring rather loudly). The corridors were as quiet as the night; Merlin was careful, though, to keep his footsteps silent, and to listen intently for any patrolling guards that might be headed his way. Going down the steps to the dungeons gave him an uncanny feeling of déjà vu. His head began to swim a little. He felt as if he was in a dream.

The guards were there, the guards he remembered, playing a dice-game this time, and cursing as coarsely as they had last time. Merlin winced a little. His mother had always hated people swearing. But he did not have much time to consider the men; a flash in his eyes, the vague recollection of something sparking in his mind, and their dice had both flown off the table, towards a dark corner of the room and down a short flight of steps.

Merlin smiled. He rather liked being able to do magic without even thinking about it. It was like having an omnipotent servant.

He scuttled past the guards, who were so caught up in going after the dice and chuckling about the odd circumstance that they did not suspect his presence. But it was only after Merlin had passed the bend in the corridor that he permitted himself to release his pent-up breath, and, absent-mindedly, to produce a flame to light his way.

The dragon was not there when he at last emerged in the cave. Not in front of him, at the least. The chain was taut and disappeared into the chimney. Merlin waited a moment – surely the dragon knew he was there – but, when he did not appear, the boy called out: 'Hello?'

A draught, a clanking, a rush of air – and, suddenly, the dragon was there in all of his magnificence, perched upon the rock opposite Merlin, and studying the child in faint amusement.

'You weren't a dream!' Merlin could not help but exclaim.

 _I should hope not._

Merlin hesitated, and then, unsure of the intricacies of dragon-etiquette, he bowed. 'I was rude last time... I think. I'm sorry.'

 _You were naturally startled; I forgive you. – But you had something to ask of me._

'Yes...'

At once a flood of thoughts overcame Merlin. He thought of the last time he had been here – the dragon telling him about his destiny to protect Arthur, to help the boy become a great king. He thought of the prince himself: this strange child, so insolent, so arrogant in public, but prone to deep thoughts in the middle of the night, a thing that Merlin thought was unique to him. He thought of how the boy always insisted on keeping his distance from Merlin – from people like him in general. He thought of how much he disliked him. And then he said:

'I want to know how to help him.'

 _You wish to help Arthur?_

'If he wants to become a great king,' said Merlin frankly, 'he is going to need all the help he can get.'

The dragon snorted in an amused fashion.

'But what can I do? How can I turn him nice?'

 _You cannot change people, merely influence them._

'How can I help him, then?' And, after a moment: 'I really think he needs someone to guide him. And if it's my destiny to guide him, then... I'll do it. I think I can do it.'

The dragon looked pleased. _You have answered your own question._

'I haven't! I need your advice. Please.'

 _Arthur treasures an image that does not reflect him. That is what must be overturned._

Merlin wasn't sure he had quite understood, but he didn't want to ask the dragon more questions if he was just going to be enigmatic. 'I... think I can do it. Should I try to be his friend? Or will that not work?'

 _That is for you to find out, young warlock._

Merlin sighed. 'Thank you. I think. Can I come back and ask you more things if it doesn't work? Really, you've told me to do a very big thing, and you can't expect me to do it on my own.'

The dragon just smiled, and looked almost affectionately at the boy. Then he bade goodbye in his own special fashion: by flapping his wings so that Merlin nearly fell over in the downdraught, and, in a clanking of chains, disappearing back to his ceiling-perch. Merlin found himself worrying he had interrupted the dragon in the middle of something important.

But he was growing tired at last, and he had all the answers that he was going to get, and so, almost relieved that the events of last time had not been a dream after all, he scurried off back to his own bedroom, in the hope of stealing enough sleep in what remained of the night.


	7. Dreams

Morgana saw a lot of things that people didn't realise she saw.

Not just in her sleep – though those things were extraordinary, and she probably ought to have opened up to someone about them. Even to Gaius they were just 'nightmares'. Sometimes she wondered if her imagination was just unnecessarily hyperactive: that would have explained a lot. But she liked to think that there was something more to it – that she saw the future in her dreams because _she could guess the future_ , through logic and deduction and fancy-sounding concepts like that. She liked to think that she could, to some extent, use that ability whilst awake – that she could read people like books, that she was far more observant than the average adult, never mind child. That was her explanation, anyway.

Morgana saw a lot of things.

She saw in the dream-Uther's eyes a manic passion, a hatred, a fury raging there that she did not recall from her waking moments. Yet after these dreams she looked him in the eye, and was surprised to see a fire there that she had not noticed before. It was a terrifying thing, really – to see the spark of the total destruction that she had imagined.

Before the dreams, she had thought Arthur's eyes to be hard and cold, but, when she saw the infinite warmth and wisdom in his dream-self's eyes, she started to see it in his every glance – once again like fire burning, but the fire of a hearth, not an inferno. It was reassuring somehow. She wondered if Arthur knew what his eyes revealed. He did not show it, if he did.

She had dreamt about Gaius several times now. She did not see him very often, but her fondness for the old physician evidently manifested itself in her dreams. He seemed wiser there, beyond the veil – his eyes were brighter, and hid more behind them. He had secrets. Often his role in her dreams was not as a dull kindly physician, but as a mechanism for change. He became to her one of Camelot's most fascinating characters.

Her faithful little servant Gwen, so lovely, so naïve – she was not much changed in this imaginary world, except that she seemed to have a good deal more authority. Sometimes Morgana looked across at her and tried to imagine the girl in her position. It was surprisingly easy. There was something about her, something she couldn't put her finger on. She wasn't sure if she liked it.

And, recently, the boy Merlin had started to appear. There was a dark horse if ever there was one – standing almost at Arthur's side, he said powerful things that Morgana could not recall when she awoke; he seemed to shine even when all other lights failed; he mingled himself into every scene, every image that flashed before her eyes. Sometimes she would find a name on her lips, something other than Merlin that nevertheless seemed to fit him, a name that failed her as soon as she opened her eyes. Judging by her other dreams, this all must mean something.

She watched him from time to time, quietly fascinated. His real-world self was the same clumsy smiling boy that she knew; she could discern nothing different in his eyes. There a beaming grin towards one of the guards – there a stumbling run up the castle stairs – there a kind word to anyone he should meet. He embodied sincerity and innocence. Morgana must have been the only person who ever thought to question this façade, if it was in fact a façade.

Merlin was different, if her dreams were anything to go by. He scared her a little, worried her more even than Uther did. Her dreams had never yet been wrong. He _would_ stand at Arthur's side, at the top of Camelot; he _would_ become powerful and important; he _would_ be there in every dangerous situation, though whether he fought the danger or caused it she did not dare to say. She found herself wondering how it would happen. She found herself wondering what perils the city faced – what her role in them would be – why only she was shown these visions of a darker future.

Morgana saw a lot of things. And constantly, _constantly_ , she wished and prayed that she didn't.


	8. Eblouissement

Camelot didn't do banquets by halves. It was widely-known – not official, but exploited nonetheless – that the Great Hall was technically open to everyone during certain festivities, and that the guards only started rejecting people when the place was stacked, so King Uther generally found that on the high days of the year, his table would end up overcrowded and his kitchen-staff ridiculously overworked. Everywhere, people: the knights and nobles first, then the other castle staff who were not waiting on the table, then those fortunate city-folk who had managed to bag themselves a place; the chatter was loud, so loud it drowned out the music, played by three or four devoted musicians who were entirely ignored but continued nonetheless. The servants found themselves squished into corners, with scarcely enough room for the jugs that they held. Those with better table-manners, at the top of the room, dined quite literally like kings; nearer the bottom end, there would be spillages, bones thrown to waiting dogs, copious amounts of wine poured down waiting throats.

It was an eclectic yet somewhat terrifying spectacle, and Merlin had never seen anything quite like it.

He and Gaius had been placed fairly near the top end, owing to Gaius's renown among the people and estimation by the king, and so he did not have to face being among the loudest, bawdiest crowds: but he found it rather bewildering nonetheless, despite that he had been in Camelot for a couple of months now, and was getting used to large amounts of people. He had been worried about ending up next to unpleasant conversation-partners, but fortunately he was near to a couple of knights who fawned over him a little, and some teenage squires who made polite and cheerful conversation. He was relieved to find that he was far enough away from Arthur not to be required even to make eye contact with the boy. He was however slightly disappointed that Gwen was right at the far end, with her father, and an older boy who was probably her brother.

But the food was good, and the atmosphere compelling, and so nobody could complain too much, least of all Merlin. Furthermore he, like most of the people present, was looking forward to the after-dinner entertainment, which would be provided by a famous singer from a neighbouring kingdom. Though it was not immediately obvious, considering that nobody could hear, or indeed was listening to, the resident musicians, the entirety of Camelot had a fondness for music. Merlin especially. He thought it close to magic in the effect it had on one's emotions. There had been a couple of musicians back in the village, musicians on the side at least, who had been able to pluck out a few songs on a rudimentary lute: he missed them sometimes, he missed the gentle atmosphere that they had created, but he was excited to hear the efforts of this renowned singer.

She had not yet made an appearance, allegedly because the rich food and heady atmosphere would have ruined her voice, and anyway, she did not much like the bawdiness of this sort of event. Merlin thought she seemed a bit of a spoil-sport. So, to be perfectly honest, did most of the people present. But people will excuse anything for artistic talent, and so they all waited eagerly for her arrival, devouring the food and the wine and everything in their path.

At last the nourishment looked as if it might be running out, and there was a disturbance in the corridor outside that strongly suggested the appearance of the night's spectacle. A guard scurried up to the king, and informed him of something; then the king stood, and clapped his hands, and bade for silence.

Not everyone stopped talking, especially those at the end of the table, who hadn't actually heard the command; but the room ended up quiet enough: weirdly quiet, indeed, compared to the hour of rabble that had preceded it. Then the king announced:

'Please welcome our guest this evening: the Lady Patricia of Wessex, an astounding singer, I am sure you will agree, if you have heard her before: and if you have not, well, you are in for a treat!'

A smattering of applause accompanied the singer as she entered. Merlin could not help but notice that the resident musicians threw her some rather dark glances; he himself clapped, carried away by the excitement of it all. Furthermore her presence was overbearing and seemed to demand recognition, even though she had not yet opened her mouth.

She was startling: the very picture of beauty, but with a cold fire in her eyes, and not a single hint of a smile. Merlin supposed that this was what pride did to people. He did not much like her appearance, but he hoped that her singing would make up for it.

The people at the far end had at last realised that something was going on, and fallen silent; all eyes turned to the lady, who, after bowing briefly to the king, drew herself up and began to sing.

She truly was extraordinary. King Uther had not exaggerated: her voice was powerful, heart-rending, magnificent. It filled the hall, despite that it was full of people, soaring to the rafters, echoing from every wall. Merlin felt certain that people would be able to hear it out in the countryside. He had never heard anything quite like her voice, and he wondered if he ever would again. It was this thought that began to settle him into a sort of rapture, sitting back, falling still, eyes half closed –

No. This wasn't right. He didn't feel enraptured, he felt sleepy. How could he sleep with her singing like that? He started back to reality, tried to focus on her singing – and began to slip back again.

What was wrong with him? He wasn't tired. He was sure of it. His eyes just felt strangely heavy, a yawn was rising up his throat –

He lifted his head from where it had fallen onto his chest: and he was astounded to see that the squire opposite him, the friendly one who had addressed him earlier, had gone to sleep. As had the man next to him.

The song continued, and became more insistent. Now the notes were strident, and it seemed as if the Lady Patricia might strain her voice: yet still she sang, she did not seem to falter. How long had she been singing for? It felt like forever. Merlin blinked, and began to nod.

He jolted himself awake again. Something wasn't right. He could sense it. There was a headiness in the air, a headiness he thought he recognised – magic.

He looked around, panicked. Everyone about him was nodding off; most were already asleep. The hall seemed darker than it had before. He glanced towards the candelabras. The ones nearest the back had all gone out.

By now he was deeply flustered, but, not knowing what to do, he sat tight and watched the singer, realising that she probably had magic, and hoping that she wouldn't notice him. But as a precaution he put his fingers in his ears and tried to think of something other than the swaying, passionate song that filled the hall.

He dipped his head, as if in sleep, and just at the right moment: for the Lady Patricia had begun to walk down the ranks, still singing, inspecting the effects of her spell, if it was a spell. He was small enough to go unnoticed. Once she had walked down to the other end of the table, she returned, looking satisfied, but still singing.

Then her hand went to the folds of her dress, and she plucked out a dagger.

Merlin saw the glint of metal before he realised what was happening. When he registered the situation, he saw that she had approached the royal family, and had raised the dagger as if to strike –

'No!' he cried, standing.

He did not know what bravery or foolishness had prompted him to speak; he hoped he would not regret it. Her eyes flashed, and turned to him. Still she sang. Merlin stuffed his fingers deep into his ears, composed himself, and jumped onto the table, for want of a better plan.

The Lady Patricia sighed, and prepared to dispose of this unexpected distraction. She flexed her fingers, began to cast a wordless spell –

But Merlin acted first. He did not even know he had done anything until he felt a surge of energy rise up in him; then a great invisible wave swept across the table, scattering the crockery, and buffeting into his adversary, who tumbled backwards, in a sweep of light and force –

And then she disappeared.

The most terrible silence fell. Everyone in the hall was sleeping deeply still; Merlin jumped down from the table, feeling as if he was going to faint. He did not know what he had done. He hoped it hadn't been too much. He wondered how he would explain away the broken crockery, his sudden pallor, the absence of the Lady Patricia. In an instant, he decided that he wouldn't stay to find out, and fled from the hall.


	9. Guilt

There reigned in Gaius's quarters a profound and deeply satisfying silence, and one that Merlin was hardly used to. Usually, when the physician was working there, the place would be filled with the crackling of flames, the hissing of chemicals, the chink of glasses; if he had a patient in, the air would be rent with their moans and groans; and even Merlin contributed to the noise, for he would clatter around inspecting whatever Gaius was doing or running errands or searching for interesting-looking books. A great contrast, then, to this atmosphere: he sat in the semi-darkness of the hibernating quarters and listened to his own heartbeat, tucked in a corner and gently trembling.

He felt exhausted. It was a strange sort of fatigue, this fatigue that afflicted his muscles and his brain, but which did not make him yawn or rub his eyes; it was as if he had spent the most immense effort. It was only as he began, slowly, to consider what had happened that he realised that he most likely had.

Magic. He had done magic, great and terrible magic. It had been instinctive. He didn't know what he had done. He only knew that the Lady Patricia had disappeared, and her own spell had been undone. He had felt his strength leave him – it was exhilaration and terror alone that had allowed him even to move, to run through the castle, before collapsing, spent, in a corner of the court physician's quarters.

Magic. He had done magic, in front of the entire castle. Yes, they had been asleep, but that did not stay his anxiety. What would happen when they awoke? Surely they would guess that something had happened! And they would notice that he was missing – and they would know that it was his fault. Magic was banned in Camelot. He knew that things happened to magicians – nobody had ever quite dared tell him _what_ , but he knew that they must be terrible.

Thus he sat; and in this calming atmosphere, his breathing slowed, and his heart stopped racing; he might have fallen asleep where he sat, were it not for the footsteps in the corridor outside.

They were Gaius's: and as far as Merlin could tell, the physician was alone. Nevertheless he stood and took up a defensive stance, unconsciously, not knowing how his great-uncle would react. He waited with bated breath until he heard the footfalls reach the door: when it opened, he did not speak, merely stood there half in shadow, his eyes glinting.

Gaius's face did not betray what emotions he might be feeling. The physician looked down at Merlin, this poor frightened Merlin who looked ready to collapse into tears, and asked:

'Merlin, what happened?'

'Magic, I think,' Merlin murmured, and promptly collapsed into his arms.

* * *

'I didn't mean to do it,' Merlin protested, the moment he awoke.

Gaius was standing over him, looking deeply concerned, for the boy's face was extremely pale, and he had had a restless sleep.

'I didn't mean to do it,' Merlin said again. 'It didn't feel like me. The lady disappeared. She was going to do something to the king. What did people say? Are they going to come after me?'

As if spent by the effort of talking, he fell back onto his pillow. Gaius sat beside him on the bed, and clasped his hand.

'Merlin, don't worry. It's all right. Nobody knows what happened. They didn't notice that you had gone – they were too busy wondering where the Lady Patricia had gone.'

'Did nobody see me?' Merlin asked, almost in wonderment.

Gaius shook his head. Merlin thought for a long moment.

'Who was she? Why did she have magic?'

'I don't know.' Gaius hesitated. 'Merlin, you saw her... What did she do?'

And Merlin, in faltering terms, did his best to explain what he had seen and heard: the spell that had reached everyone but him, partly because he had covered his ears, but partly no doubt owing to his powers; the terrible silence that had fallen upon the hall, as everyone fell into a deep sleep; her advance towards the royal family, the dagger – then his intervention.

Gaius rubbed his temples. It had all happened so quickly, and there was still the disappearance of the Lady Patricia to explain away to the king. He wondered what the Lady Patricia had against the royal family – if indeed it had been the Lady Patricia. He realised, at length, that were it not for Merlin's intervention, the king, and perhaps those around him also, would be dead.

Leaving aside the political implications for the moment, the explanations that would have to be made, the lies that would have to be told, he looked down affectionately at his adopted son and said:

'You're quite the hero of the hour, Merlin.'

And all of a sudden a pinprick of colour spread into those pale cheeks: and Merlin smiled, vaguely, before rolling over and falling asleep again.

* * *

And Gaius sat, and fell into deep thought for a long while; then at last he went over to the shelf and pulled down a book. Once he had found the page he wanted, and read it over thoroughly, he bookmarked that page, tucked the volume under his arm and went to find the king.


	10. Battle

Nothing united Camelot better than a good tournament.

At first Merlin had been uncertain about all the noise and the crowds flooding into the city; he had had to close his shutters to be able to concentrate on reading, or go up to the library, which he liked but which intimidated him a bit; but, when Gaius had explained to him that all of these visitors had come for a tournament – and one of the high points of the Camelot calendar – Merlin's interest had been at once piqued.

The contestants were put up in the castle itself, and were a common sight about the place over the next few days; Merlin was too young to recognise their actual authority – most were nobility and a few were royalty – but he did respect and admire the magnificent coats of arms that adorned their tunics, the variously coloured cloaks that billowed in the corridors and created a cloud of colour down in the courtyard. Their assistants were housed either with the servants, or in the town; and the inns of Camelot were stacked with spectators from surrounding counties and kingdoms. The place was full to bursting, and even walking down the street was a challenge worthy of its own tournament.

Merlin hadn't yet seen the arena, which was just outside the city walls, and which was scarcely used outside of such events as this. Therefore his eyes were wide as he and Gaius went to find a place in the stands: already people were beginning to fill the rows, adding a wonderful variety to the striking red wood; the circle of the arena itself was huge, as if they had wanted to race chariots in there; and the royal box was magnificent, a flurry of purple and red and gold that rivalled the spectacle to come. The contestants had not yet emerged from their tents, but there was a chattering coming from that general direction. More conversation began to arise variously from among the gathering crowds; shouts began to go up from opportunistic traders who had set up shop just at the entrance. One woman ruffled Merlin's hair and called him a darling and gave him a little cake for free. Gaius felt obliged to buy a cake for himself, but he didn't eat it; he wrapped it in a scrap of cloth and said that if Merlin was good he would be able to have it for dinner.

They managed to find a good place in the stands, as the people of the castle had a little area reserved just for them, by the sides of the royal box. Gaius began to chat with a couple of the other servants, who had shuffled in beside them. Merlin leaned over and kept a beady eye on the proceedings. He did not know much about what was going on, beyond the scraps of gossip he had caught over the past few weeks. He knew that this was one of the most thrilling tournaments in existence, owing to the talent and variety of the contestants. He knew that the King himself had in previous years participated as one of Camelot's champions, before an injury and his age had forced him to back down. And he knew by sight this year's favourite from the city: a certain Sir Leon, a young knight – scarcely an adult, in fact – who wasn't yet the best Camelot had ever seen, but who, with a few more years' experience, would be an extraordinary fighter, if the experts were to be believed.

There he was. Camelot's flag had just appeared over the entrance to the arena, borne by a servant, behind whom promenaded four knights: and at their head was the apparently indestructible Sir Leon, looking very sturdy in his shining armour and emblazoned tunic. The other kingdoms followed the hosts, as per usual, as the last of the spectators filed in, and as the vendors at the gates hurriedly packed up: they would parade around the ring a few times, so that everyone got a good look at the stakes. And, in the background, the musicians struck up a merry tune, trying to compete with the loud chatter and the cheers that went up from the crowd, when the champions passed their countrymen. Perhaps they were playing a tune; all Merlin could hear was the screech from a flute and the blasting of a rudimentary trumpet. Somehow that just made everything more thrilling.

And they returned to their tents, save for the first two contestants: Sir Leon, and a man whose name Merlin did not know but whose flag told them he was from Wessex. Gaius had leaned over to his neighbour to ask who this opponent was; Merlin did not catch the name, and called him _The Enemy_ , for want of something better, and because he had felt a surge of patriotism rise up in him.

He watched Sir Leon and The Enemy stand opposite each other, and bow, first to each other, and then to King Uther, who was invisible to the audience in his box. Then they drew their swords, and ran at each other.

Merlin felt himself catch a breath: for a terrifying moment it had seemed as if they would kill each other instantly. Then he settled back and remembered that this was all just a game, a sport, a tournament, and furthermore a glorious one: and, as the crowd began to cheer on their favourite side, he found himself entirely caught up in it, and began to shout, in a high voice that could scarcely compete with those around him, _Sir Le-on! Sir Le-on!_

A few moments later he heard his chant repeated a couple of rows behind him: when he turned, he saw the friendly squire he had talked to at the dinner, who beamed down at him; and, a few places along, among the people of the lower town, Gwen and her father, who were also smiling in his direction, and who cast this chant into the arena and towards the entirety of Camelot.

Gwen's father's voice was loud and resonating, an advantage; soon everyone was cheering in this way for Leon, and clapping as well. Merlin turned his attention back to the fight. The knight in question lunged for his opponent – knocked him to the ground – everyone got ready to cheer, but The Enemy picked himself up and swirled out of the way of Leon's next blow, in a smattering of dust and sweat. Merlin thought for a moment that The Enemy would mimic Leon's tactic: but the latter dodged, danced across the arena, kept on his feet by a miracle of balance. Truly, Sir Leon was a glory to watch. He had been called indestructible: Merlin could well believe that, for he seemed to get himself out of the most impossible of scrapes. But, though his defence was finely-tuned, he had not yet had much opportunity to attack. That was about to change.

The Enemy, who had evidently not expected Sir Leon to withstand so many onslaughts, paused for a moment to catch his breath. A mistake. The people of Wessex, and their allies, audibly gasped, because in that moment their champion had brought about his downfall: Sir Leon ran at him, bowled him over, and, before Merlin had even registered what was going on, he lay on the ground with a sword at his heart, defeated.

Leon stood there a moment, his shoulders heaving; then he grinned, pulled off his helmet, waved at the crowd, acknowledged the king as gracefully as he had fought. The Enemy accepted his defeat and the handshake that his opponent offered him, as he stood painfully, covered in dust but nevertheless smiling. Merlin clapped and cheered more loudly than in his life before: the fight had exhilarated him. His mentor at his side looked a little disapproving at this loud display of excitement, but he was not serious, and Merlin saw a smile twitching at the corner of the physician's mouth.

'Having fun?' he asked of his little ward, when the noise had died down enough to hear himself think.

Merlin could only nod eagerly; his eyes were fixed on the outline of the tents beyond the gate, hoping to catch the first glimpse of the next competitors. To one side was a servant adjusting the scoreboard, which was covered with small copies of the flags that now fluttered over the gate. Wessex was not yet out, but they were one man down out of three, and leastways the first losers always seem the most disadvantaged. Inversely, the first victor was glorified, and Sir Leon paraded back to his tent in a flurry of cheers and clapping and screeches, and, as he walked past the stands, a hail of handkerchiefs from an overly eager group of young Camelot women.

The next two competitors were favourites among the crowd, given the sounds of it: or at least, the man from the Western Isles was. His black and yellow tunic had stood out in the castle, as he had walked proudly down the corridors, as if he had already won the tournament: and Merlin had glimpsed his shield before, though he couldn't quite remember where: it was a distinctive one, its red and green snake design seeming to clash with the colours of his standard, but with a beautiful intricacy that he had rather admired. But there was no time to admire pictures now: the attraction would be in his fighting, and apparently – or so the conversation around him told him – he was really rather good.

'Bet he isn't as good as Sir Leon,' Merlin commented in a low voice to Gaius.

'Oh, I doubt it,' said Gaius with a small smile.

His name was Valiant, but he had also earned the epithet _Gallant_ during his (thus far short) time in Camelot, owing to his chivalry: and he certainly showed it now, in an almost exaggerated fashion, in his acknowledgement of the king followed by his opponent. He smiled widely around at the crowd, murmured something to the other man – it looked like _good luck_ from here – and slid on his helmet. At his smile, a cheer had gone up, particularly from the ladies in the audience. But Merlin hadn't much liked the smile. He couldn't say why, though.

Then the fight began. Valiant was certainly a good fighter: but Merlin had been right, he didn't have half the grace or the art of Sir Leon. His tactics were violent and rather reckless: he battered his opponent, pushing him backwards, raining blows down on his shield so that he didn't have any chance to fight back. Remarkably, the opponent managed to stay upright for a long while, lashing out, but never landing any blows; skidding on the floor, but managing to keep his balance; flicking reassuring smiles towards the audience that didn't reach his eyes. Valiant's own eyes were burning, burning with a fire, almost angrily. Merlin supposed that that was what men felt when they fought. To him, fighting, even for fun, always seemed somewhat aggressive, and though he enjoyed watching it, he wasn't sure he wanted to get too near. And especially not to Knight Valiant.

At last the poor opponent fell to the floor; it seemed as if he had merely given up, and his legs buckled beneath him. Nobody could blame him. The fight had lasted for what seemed like a long while, and Valiant's attack had been particularly pernicious. Valiant, too, seemed exhausted for a moment, and knelt by his opponent, lowering his sword and his shield.

And that was when he saw it. Merlin, who was still watching Valiant's eyes in something akin to fear, caught a momentary glimpse of gold, a light he thought he knew. Then they regained their previous dark fiery tones; and Valiant, with a glance towards his fallen opponent, caught his breath and stood. Now his gallant persona was back: he smiled round at everyone, bowing modestly as the people cheered, bowing low to the king. But his opponent did not get up, and, seeing this, the servants at the gate ran into the arena and picked him up, carting him away to attend to him, see if he was wounded, or merely exhausted.

And Valiant also disappeared; the chatter of the crowds filled the interval before the next men arrived. But before they had even appeared in the arena, someone came running round the edge, leaned over the side, called out to Gaius that he was needed in the tents.

'Will you be all right here?' Gaius asked of Merlin.

Merlin hesitated, then nodded. The squire behind him offered to keep an eye on him. Gaius thanked the boy and left with the messenger: and Merlin's eyes followed him as he rounded the arena and disappeared from view.

As the exhilaration from this fight faded, Merlin suddenly found that he was trembling. In all the tumult he had almost forgotten what he had seen. Valiant's eyes had glowed. It hadn't been a trick of the light. He was certain of it. If he wasn't much mistaken – Valiant had done magic.

But what to do? What had he done? Had anyone else seen? Merlin scarcely dared mention it to anyone; if he was wrong, and Valiant was wrongly convicted – he would die. He couldn't do that to anyone. Accusing someone of magic was such a serious matter that Merlin didn't think he would ever be able to do it.

And yet – something had happened. A deep sense of foreboding had coursed through him when the man hadn't got up – when Gaius had been sent for. Something had happened. It probably had something to do with whatever Valiant had done. Had nobody else seen? Merlin cast a glance round the rest of the spectators. All of them had begun to cheer as the next competitors arrived in the arena; none of them looked as perplexed as he felt; anyway, few of them would have been able to see Valiant's eyes – Merlin was in the front row, and furthermore small, and had been at exactly the right level.

Should he tell someone?

Maybe he would, when he knew what had happened. Maybe he would tell Gaius, at least. The old physician would be angry with him if he didn't say what he knew.

He turned briefly, saw that the squire was clapping and cheering with the rest of them. And, though his thoughts were still a whirlwind within his mind, he cleared his face of all confusion, and tried to pretend for the moment that nothing had happened, as he was so used to doing.


	11. Valiant

When Merlin was left to his own devices, he would usually start by roaming the castle's endless corridors, in the hope of coming by somebody he knew, like Gwen. Of course, by this method he risked bumping into people he really didn't like, but Arthur tended to ignore him these days, so it was mostly fine. Also he had not yet tired of the architecture, which was beginning to look glorious now that summer was approaching, for the bright sun made the walls a lovely honey colour. He could sit for hours in one of the alcoves in which the windows were set, watching the events outside, and the slowly-shifting rays of light inside, and the rainbows that were sometimes cast upon the pale walls.

But today his intentions were not exploration. He had set off very pointedly towards the western wing of the castle, which was where the majority of the tournament competitors were being housed, and in the hope of being allowed anywhere near it. Not because he wished to see the celebrities once again – he saw them enough around the place, and was beginning to tire of their pomposity – but because he was on a mission, one that imported on the life of a certain patient back in Gaius's chambers.

The tournament had stopped for lunch, and Merlin's first destination had been his own quarters; it was to here that the man whom Valiant had fought had been carried. He was in a bad state. Gaius could not find a wound that might have caused this condition; he was perplexed by the man's fever, by the immense weakness that had come over him (though he still managed to writhe rather spectacularly, and though he gave little verbal indication, he seemed to be in great pain). Merlin had not said anything. He couldn't. There were other people in the room: to voice his suspicions would get him into trouble, if he was wrong. But Gaius's confusion and alarm were enough to confirm that Valiant had done more than just push the man to the ground: he had done some sort of magic, and it was killing his victim.

Just as the man's condition was reaching a crisis point, Gaius had sent Merlin from the room: the boy was too young to see such a thing as a man in utter agony. Merlin had taken this opportunity to start an investigation. He had to get to Valiant's quarters, and see if there was anything that might provide concrete evidence for the knight's apparent use of magic.

He knew that most of the competitors were currently elsewhere: most of them practising for this afternoon and the following morning, and some of them dulling this morning's pain down the tavern. He had to hope that Valiant would be among the former group. If not, he had a few half-formed plans, most of which exploited his image of complete innocence that tended to charm almost everyone.

When he reached what he believed to be Valiant's room, he knocked on the door and waited a few moments; then, when there was no response, he knelt and looked through the keyhole. There was nobody in. Furthermore the door was not locked. He smiled.

He didn't really know what he expected to find. Perhaps, naive as he was, he thought that all Valiant's secrets might be written down somewhere, in a journal, or a parcel of letters that he would find sitting conveniently in one of the cupboards. Perhaps he had been using magic weaponry, and he would be able to investigate it. The competitors did not practise with their show arms, of course, and Merlin knew he was right even before he saw the sword and shield propped up against the hearth in Valiant's little chamber.

Valiant was evidently not one of those people who, on entering a temporary bedroom, immediately try to make it feel like home. The place was sparse and orderly, and the bed had been made. A single bag lay on the floor, near to the sword, and a set of clothes had been placed upon the counterpane. His complimentary towels were neatly folded on the window-ledge.

This quick glance about the room did not tell Merlin much about the man, except that he was assiduous and almost dull, or at least wanted to seem that way. Therefore he headed straight for the bag and the weapons. Carefully he peered into the bag. It contained just a fat purse, some rolled-up linen and a leather waterskin. Merlin had half-hoped to find a magic wand (despite knowing that such a thing probably did not exist), or some clear evidence that he could use against this enigmatic knight; but nothing. His next hope was in the weaponry.

These had been the ones he had used in the competition; Merlin knew the colours of the shield, and the bright bronze of the sword's hilt. The sword was nothing special, a remarkable fact considering Valiant's apparent wealth and status. Perhaps it was one of those objects that hide their wealth in a sleek stylish appearance that children are not much inclined to recognise as fashionable. But Merlin did not feel as if the sword was important. It had scarcely been used: he knew that much.

The shield however was distinctive, especially since Valiant's yellow and black tunic hardly matched the red field and green snakes emblazoned upon it. It was rather Celtic in design: Merlin knew that Valiant came from north of the Caledonian border, where such artworks abounded, for he had seen them before in the market, and presumed that this was an example of them. But aside from any interest he might have had in the pattern, he felt strangely drawn to it. The hair on the back of his neck was beginning to prickle, as if something was behind him, and he had not yet perceived it with any but his sixth sense; he felt – a strange sensation, like there was – a kindred spirit? – No: he knew what it was, it was magic.

He reached out, drew nearer to the face of one of the snakes –

Suddenly he heard, distinctly, a hissing noise; the eye of the snake seemed to spark; he drew his hand away in a primeval reaction, shaking with subconscious terror. A moment later, and he realised that the sound of footsteps outside had added to his fear: someone was coming.

The deep conviction that it was Valiant clutched at him. He glanced about him; an idea swirled in his mind, and made landfall; in an instant he had cast a spell, and had pattered over to stand by the still-open door, which he could not leave through, for fear of this someone seeing him. And his suspicions about who it was were quickly confirmed, for the footsteps grew louder, and Valiant pushed open the door and entered.

He did not see Merlin for a moment, but, when he did, his angry reaction was startling, and made Merlin jump out of his skin.

'What are you doing here, boy?'

Merlin gulped, and opened his palm, into which he had conjured a flower – a particularly beautiful one that was a combination of a bluebell and a snowdrop, because Merlin's memory was not especially photographic. 'This,' he said, pushing it towards him. 'I was told to give it to you. By a lady.'

'An admirer?' Valiant smirked, and took the flower, a little roughly. 'Does this lady have a name?'

'She... didn't want me to say.'

'No, they never do.' Valiant crossed the room. Merlin noticed his quick glance towards the sword and the shield, and the stare that then pierced the child himself. 'Well! You've done what you came for; run along, boy!'

He had not meant to say it unkindly, but apparently Valiant's nature was not kind, and though his voice was the deep husky sort favoured by certain women, Merlin did not find it at all pleasant. Perhaps this contributed to his hasty flight from the room; perhaps also he was still playing the role of the timid innocent child, an image which, to his shame, he had rather perfected while he had been in Camelot. But at any rate, just after Merlin had left, he heard Valiant go and shut the door, and lock it too, and knew in his heart that he would from then on find it similarly locked. Something was afoot about Knight Valiant, and Merlin felt he had solved the first part of an important mystery.

The conundrum, then, was not what was going on, but rather – how would he begin to explain it to anyone?


	12. Death

Gaius's patient died that evening.

The physician hadn't intended for Merlin to be there when it happened, but the man had actually been showing signs of improvement, and certainly hadn't seemed that close to the end. Sometimes it happened like that – completely unexpectedly, like that final burst of energy had in fact been their downfall. The man had opened his eyes, stammered out a request for water – Gaius had asked Merlin to go and fetch a cup – by the time Merlin had returned to his bedside, the poor knight had collapsed backwards and slipped into a wild delirium. Quickly Gaius had sent Merlin up to his room, but not quickly enough. The boy saw everything, the wide eyes, the gasping mouth, the final shuddering gulp.

Merlin was no stranger to death. He hadn't seen his mother die – he had been spared that, at least – but he had seen another man claimed by the same illness, the first in the village to contract it; his ill health was such a foreign condition, out in the country, that the villagers had been morbidly fascinated by it. And a number of youngsters whom he had known had fallen prey to those sicknesses that carry off children with a wicked abandon. But this one left him shivering and afraid, and he knew precisely why.

 _I could have stopped it._

He had seen Valiant use magic yesterday. He shouldn't have hesitated to tell Gaius. What had stopped him? Uncertainty? But Gaius didn't mind uncertainty: it was always better to be on the safe side. No: it was the very fact that magic was involved, that the consequences of anything involving magic were so terrible.

He shouldn't have hesitated, though. Gaius would have understood.

Wouldn't he?

Well, he would have to tell him now. Uther would want to know what had happened, and this couldn't be explained away by an internal injury, or whatever unconvincing lie Gaius was concocting. Merlin had, on being sent to his room, sat on the bed in deep contemplation; but at last he stood, and made to re-enter the main room.

Gaius had sent for the king and a number of other figures, and was bustling about in preparation for whatever last rite ceremony this man might have received in his native country. He had drawn the covers over his face, so that he appeared as but a crease in the white sheets, unreal almost. Merlin stared at the thing for a moment more, and then said:

'He was killed by magic.'

The physician turned. The child was standing in the shadow of the doorway, his face absolutely serious. The voice had scarcely been his.

'What?'

'The man... yesterday, in the fight... I saw Valiant do... something... He did magic. I saw his eyes. I think he killed him by magic.'

Merlin misinterpreted Gaius's astonishment as anger, and hung his head a little. But the physician did not scold his audacity, but instead came over, and, kneeling to his level, said insistently:

'Merlin, what did you see? What happened?'

And so Merlin tried to recall the exact progression of events, and told it to Gaius in fragments, which the latter listened to intently, before straightening, frowning, and going to think it over. He did not have much time, however, because a few moments later there was a knock at the door, and King Uther appeared.

Merlin bowed low, and pattered off up to his room. He wondered if Gaius would tell the King about the incident with Valiant. He wondered if he would mention the boy's name in connexion with the knowledge. At the moment he was too baffled by everything to be particularly bothered. Now that he had left everything in the capable hands of his adoptive father, he wondered whether to renounce the whole business altogether. He was far too young to be bothering himself with this sort of thing. And it wasn't all that long since he had defeated a witch, after all.

It was just as he was turning his attention to a book that Gaius had lent him – all about identifying useful plants, with the most wondrous painted illustrations that held his attention more than the accompanying science – that he recalled the incident with the dragon.

The dreamlike nature of the memory had influenced the way he treated it: it did not seem much as if it had happened, and kept flickering in and out of his mind, in bizarre snapshots. But the message that the creature had had for him stayed with him. He was in charge of the destiny of Prince Arthur, and, by association, of that of Camelot. In short, it all meant that he had to keep at least half an eye on the situation: whatever Valiant was intending could very well end up affecting Arthur, even though the prince was not participating directly in the tournament. He had to know what his intentions were – who his targets were – whether he was acting alone.

Merlin sat up suddenly, but a sudden fatigue halted his eagerness. Saving Camelot was extremely tiring. Was he expected to do everything in this? Or did this particular incident have no import on his supposed destiny?

The responsibility was overwhelming; the questions buzzed in his mind; and he made up his mind to go and see the dragon again as soon as was earthly possible.


	13. Advice

The cavern was close to silent, save for the steady drip of the ethereal-looking water at its fonds; the chain did not clank, and Merlin's footsteps did not resound. He could not see the dragon, and feared to disturb him. For a moment, he stood in awe of the great cave, which was far bigger than should have fitted down here, and which absolutely dwarfed him; then, just as he was about to cough, or call out, a great downdraught buffeted him, and he heard the leathery beating of wings.

Then, before him, there appeared the dragon: and Merlin bowed, partly in reverence, partly in fear, but mostly because the draught had nearly toppled him.

'So! you are returned already,' said the dragon with a hint of amusement.

'I need your advice,' said Merlin without preamble. 'There is a man using magic to kill people, and Camelot is in danger, and Arthur is in danger, actually, and you said I must protect Arthur. But this is all too much for me to sort out. What must I do?'

He knew as soon as the dragon's eye looked straight down at him that he would not receive a straight answer: but nevertheless he listened intently, and waited as the creature considered him with that rather judgemental glance.

'Will you let Arthur remain oblivious?'

Merlin wasn't sure what _oblivious_ meant, and so did not reply.

'Sometimes, when things do not go as planned, one must take things into one's own hands.'

'I _have_ taken things into my own hands,' Merlin protested: 'and I don't know what to do next.'

'Solutions are usually more obvious than they seem, young warlock. You must show Arthur what threatens him, or he will remain unknowing.'

Merlin furrowed his brow. He didn't much like the answer, and felt even more confused than before. But the dragon was smiling down at him, apparently unaware that he hadn't made the slightest crumb of sense, and Merlin didn't want to bewilder himself further by asking more questions.

'Will you ever answer my questions properly?' he asked, frankly.

The dragon just smiled wider, and, in a single bound, rose up and out of sight. The clanking echoed and faded; the wing-beats dissipated into the cold clear air; and Merlin stood for a moment, swaying, wondering once again if he would think of it all as a dream, later, when he was trying to go over what little advice he had been given.

But the dragon was not coming back, and, though he called him half-heartedly, there was no response from the high depths of the cavern. So Merlin strengthened his resolve, turned on his heel, and decided that taking matters into his own hands might have to be the order of the day.

* * *

He found Prince Arthur just outside his royal chambers, about to enter, dressed in an elaborate little suit of chainmail and wielding a blunted sword. Perhaps he had been at sword-drill; perhaps he had just been dreaming of competing in the tournament. But Merlin did not want to have to knock, and so called out for him to wait a moment, somewhat insolently, but it got the other boy's attention.

'Oh! it's you addressing me like that. I might have guessed.'

'I have to talk to you,' Merlin persisted.

'I don't talk to peasants: you know that. Anyway, I'm busy.'

'But you're in danger! You must listen to me.'

Prince Arthur could not deny being intrigued, though he hid it in a look of resigned disdain, and said:

'Just a couple of minutes then, and you had better be telling the truth.'

He swung Merlin into the room, but did not close the door; then he stared at the boy, and after a moment said: 'What is it?'

'It's about Valiant,' said Merlin: 'the knight from the Western Isles. He's using magic in the tournament, I saw him.'

'That's a dangerous accusation,' Arthur said at once, looking more concerned than angry. Then, his curiosity overtaking him: 'What did he do? What did you see?'

Quickly Merlin explained about the shield, and the snakes, and the death of the man in Gaius's quarters. He did not know why he had been the only person to see it: perhaps because of his height; or perhaps there were others in Camelot too afraid to come forward. Gaius knew, but he did not seem to have told anyone, and Merlin did not want anyone else to die, and he was scared that Valiant's intentions might be more nefarious than they seemed at present –

'I didn't know who else to tell,' Merlin finished, putting on his most panicked expression. 'I couldn't go to the King – he wouldn't believe _me_ – if Gaius told him, maybe – or you –'

To Merlin's surprise, Arthur did not dismiss his story: indeed, he looked intrigued, and somewhat worried. 'If this is true –'

'It _is_ true,' Merlin insisted. 'And it's worth finding out if it is, surely?'

'Most likely it is,' said Arthur, pensive. 'I'll talk to my father. You had better be right about what you saw.'

'Thank you,' cried Merlin.

'Now, go. I have things to do,' said Arthur in an official tone that hinted he probably didn't really. Then, studying the boy for a moment: 'There's something about you, Merlin...'

'What?'

'I can't quite put my finger on it.'

Merlin shrugged, smiling vaguely; then he thanked the prince once more and headed back up home.


	14. Disbelief

Merlin's excitement for the tournament had diminished drastically since the Valiant incident: he could scarcely even watch the men fight, remembering the pale face of the dead man the other day, and spent most of his time in the stands with his pensive eyes elsewhere. Valiant was not fighting today. He supposed that was fortunate, not least because he wasn't in the mood to watch him closely. Sir Leon fought once, and Merlin feigned approval for the duration of the fight, clapping at appropriate moments, and cheering half-heartedly when the knight won the round and clambered once more up the rankings. But he was rather glad when it was all over for the day and he could leave the arena behind.

He dawdled after Gaius up to the chambers: and it was because he was on his own, no doubt, that Arthur saw it fit to corner him.

This time Merlin bowed, because he wasn't concentrating, and stared up at the prince, whose expression was fervent, a stark contrast to his usual smirk.

'Merlin, you had _better_ be right,' he said, as he had the previous day. 'I've told my father. He's going to investigate. Did you say it was the shield?'

Merlin nodded, not quite knowing how to react.

'I didn't tell him that it was you who told me – but I will if you've got it wrong, believe me.' Merlin did not much approve of this, but said nothing. 'But...' And he frowned, as if he could not get the words out. ' _I_ believe you. You're a silly peasant, but you're not a liar.'

Merlin smiled lopsidedly, knowing that that was as close to a compliment as he would get from the other boy, and watched Arthur go before hurrying off back to his own quarters.

The next he heard of the whole matter, Gaius had been summoned to the council chambers, where Uther awaited his best advisors, and, at length, a certain Knight Valiant. The physician did not invite Merlin to accompany him, but the boy followed anyway, knowing that he would at least be able to stand at the door: he had found that boys of his age weren't usually deemed a threat to security, and could sneak around as much as they liked. Gaius was well aware of this, of course, and did not like Merlin's rather prodigious exploitation of the fact, but the child was like a leech, and anyway he was harmless despite everything.

A circle of knights and nobles ringed the table, with Uther at the head, and a rather pompous-looking Arthur overseeing proceedings from one side of the room. Merlin sat in an alcove opposite him, and watched the prince as much as he watched the others. Gaius took his place at the table.

King Uther explained the situation briefly, and then, turning to the guards at the door, asked that Knight Valiant be brought before the court.

The door opened, and in came a confident-looking Valiant, clutching the offending shield, which he had been instructed to bring.

'Sire,' he said, bowing low.

'Give me the shield,' said Uther.

Valiant came up and handed it over; the guards then restrained Valiant, and held him a few paces away, watching him intently.

Uther's fingers brushed the design, the interlocking snakes. Merlin shuddered involuntarily, for he feared that they would come to life, and endanger the King himself. The magic within him began to spark a little in anticipation.

'I have been informed,' said Uther, 'that this is a magic shield, and that you are using it to cheat in the tournament. What do you say to this?'

'I say it is a false accusation,' said Valiant calmly, 'and that your informer must be mistaken.'

Uther's mouth twitched. 'We are very capable of determining if you are lying. Camelot's court is experienced in the activities of sorcerers.' He began to examine the shield, its every facet; Merlin wanted to do something, but he did not know what; then Uther passed the shield to Gaius, who inspected it yet more intently. With each successive examination, Merlin grew more and more nervous: how would they find anything, except by accident, as he had? Would they continue to treat the situation as serious, or would they, with lack of evidence, drop it, blame him, and unleash Valiant on some other unsuspecting knight?

The meeting seemed to last hours, the shield revealed nothing insidious, Valiant's expression did not change from one of innocent confusion. Merlin glanced towards Arthur. The prince was looking straight at him, and not favourably.

At last Uther took up the shield, and, after looking upon it once more, handed it back to Valiant; Merlin drew in a sharp breath, but could not summon up the courage to say anything.

'I cannot find anything incriminating,' said the King: 'you are innocent until proven guilty, and free to go. I do apologise for the inconvenience.'

'Not at all,' said Valiant: 'I understand how seriously you must take these matters, sire.'

Just then Uther's glance fell on Arthur: and the latter, who had by now reached boiling-point, jumped up, and, as if he had been accused directly, cried:

'It wasn't me... It was Merlin who made the claim.'

All eyes fell upon the poor child, who met their stare with a steady gaze of his own. Valiant, too, turned to him: and recognised him, evidently, for the smallest of smirks appeared on his face, though he tried to hide it.

'I can't prove anything,' said Merlin at last: 'I don't know what I saw.'

'He's just a child,' said Valiant, a little too quickly.

'With a hyperactive imagination,' added Uther. 'Well! I trusted my son's account, but if he got it second-hand from...' He left the prospective insult hanging. 'Very well. I shall deal with this later. Court dismissed. Valiant, you are free to go: and once again please do accept my apology.'

'No hard feelings,' Valiant replied, smiling, and left.

The men began to filter out, and Merlin, now blushing furiously, hurried to Gaius's side. The old physician took his hand and tried to look reassuring, but it was difficult in the circumstances, when so many people were staring at him with – was it pity? Disappointment? Merlin tried to avoid their gaze, and, when Uther dismissed them, scurried off without looking back at Arthur. He knew what the prince must think of him now: he had blown his one chance at success.

But what must he do now? He had taken matters into his own hands – he had told Arthur about the threat – he had done his best at following the dragon's advice.

 _You must show Arthur what threatens him..._

The words resounded in his head, more mocking with every turn, until he became tired with them, and tried to drive them out with the most mundane thoughts; but then, suddenly, as he was approaching home, something clicked.

He halted at the door, and for a moment did not follow Gaius in. The dragon's message had not been so enigmatic after all... Indeed, it had been perfectly worded, for such a vague piece of advice.

 _You must_ show _Arthur what threatens him..._

He had worked it out. It all made sense now. He knew what he must do.


End file.
